


blue gray

by epochjeong (pinkwinwin)



Category: VICTON (Band)
Genre: (Almost), Canon Compliant, Drabble, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23810491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkwinwin/pseuds/epochjeong
Summary: It’s different when someone your age cares about you, Hanse thinks— it’s different when it’s Byungchan.
Relationships: Choi Byungchan/Do Hanse
Comments: 10
Kudos: 62





	blue gray

**Author's Note:**

> hello I'm new here and ready to cause problems   
>  title and general inspo taken from these two songs, please enjoy [1](https://youtu.be/XiNDI0ky-uU) | [2](https://youtu.be/MVOqxRG4X24)

Nights are long in the studio, hours melting together and forming a new structure of time that Hanse doesn’t even have a name for. His eyes are burning, staring at a computer screen that even with the brightness turned down is too much, pen feeling loose between his fingers. He blinks several times, pinching the bridge of his nose in efforts to clear his mind. He looks down from the screen to the notebook below his hand, lyrics scribbled carefully across the pages. The urge to turn them into something coherent before the morning comes forces Hanse to roll his shoulders back and straighten his posture, gripping the pen a little tighter and putting it back to paper.

After another twenty minutes or so of writing by the subtle glow of the desktop in front of him, he hears the door behind him creak open. He doesn’t give it much thought, figures it’s either Sejun coming into the room to grab his charger or Seungwoo to check to see if he needs anything. When no sound comes, Hanse sighs and looks over his shoulder, hand propping his head up.

He doesn’t expect to see Byungchan standing at the door, eyes wide and picking at the hem of his shirt sleeve. It looks like he was just roused from a nap, olive green long-sleeve shirt hanging loose over one shoulder and hair a mess. Hanse leans back a little in his chair, looking Byungchan in the eye.

“What is it?”

  
  
Byungchan takes a deep breath, dragging his sock-clad foot across the floor a little. He’s wearing sweat shorts and he looks a little ridiculous, admittedly. “I just wanted to see if you were okay,” his voice comes softly.

Hanse feels his brow furrow. “Huh?”   
  


It was normal for Seungwoo or Seungsik to care about Hanse, sure. He was the recipient of many concerned looks over the years, of shaking of heads and being dragged to bed at all hours of the night.

  
  
It’s different when someone your age cares about you, Hanse thinks— it’s different when it’s Byungchan. 

  
“I missed you,” Byungchan squeaks out, standing up a little straighter and looking at Hanse, but he still picks at his sleeve nervously. Hanse realizes he hasn’t said anything yet, but perhaps that’s because he doesn’t know what to say. He isn’t used to such outward affection, isn’t used to having someone wanting his company at a time like this. He clears his throat and swivels his chair a little bit, facing Byungchan just a little bit more but not giving him the satisfaction.

“I’m going to be working for a few more hours still, Byungchan. Go back to your room.”

He turns hesitantly back to his work, not sure how else to deal with Byungchan. He taps ildy at the keys, mind unfocused, hoping to hear the door click quietly behind him. When it doesn’t happen Hanse sighs, begins transcribing what he has in his notebook. The only sound in the room are the keys tapping away and soon his mind wanders— to lyrics, to composition, to the recording booth where he’ll eventually record until he gets it right.

A yawn pulls him out of his thoughts, Hanse sighing and pulling away from the computer. Byungchan is sitting on the couch against the wall, turning his phone in his hand and blinking heavily. It seems as if sleep is trying to drag him down, his body sinking into the plush material beneath him.

“I told you to go sleep,” Hanse says quietly, reaching out to tap his shoe against Byungchan’s slider as it dangles off his foot. He purses his lips in response.

“And I told you I missed you,” Byungchan replies quietly, letting Hanse kick his shoe off. It clatters to the floor, sound echoing in the small room. “You’re always in here working when we aren’t practicing.”

  
  
Hanse scratches his neck at this, hair falling in his eyes. “There’s a lot of work to be done.” And Byungchan looks at him then, terribly earnest, an emotion shining in his eyes that Hanse has only seen a handful of times when they’re alone.

“We never spend time together anymore.”

Guilt creeps up on Hanse like a shadow, his stomach turning and his heart lurching at the words. He still doesn’t know why Byungchan cares so much, but the sight of him looking so heartbroken doesn’t sit well with him. He nods slightly, sinking into the computer chair a little more. Looking at Byungchan fully, taking in his expression— wide eyes, parted lips, something genuine swirling in his dark eyes.

Hanse wants to reach out, brush the hair out of Byungchan’s eyes, take his hand in his own. He does neither.

“Okay,” Hanse says, sitting up just a little. “You can give me feedback on these lyrics.” Byungchan brightens up at these words, soft smile spreading across his face. If Hanse knew he would look at him like this, he would have suggested the idea from the beginning.

The night progresses faster, warmer after that. Hanse reads out lyrics every so often, hearing Byungchan’s soft voice giving him input with every line.

“These are good,” Byungchan ensures him, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Fans will love this song.”

  
  
Hanse chuckles quietly, nodding his head and glancing back at the laptop screen. “I hope so.”

There’s a small window above the desk, just large enough to show the color of the sky outside. Black velvet has faded, turning to a deep blue. The sun will be rising soon. They’ve been here for hours.

“Let’s hurry up and finish this verse so we can go to bed,” Hanse urges, smiles a little when Byungchan nods sleepily. He’s taken to laying on the couch, legs curled up enough to fit his lanky body on it. His voice is thick and slow when he replies to Hanse, giving suggestions on phrasing or encouraging him to keep going. Eventually Hanse feels satisfied, reading over the lyrics and mouthing the words to himself. Byungchan’s sleepy voice is so quiet behind him, muffled by a yawn, that Hanse has to ask him to repeat his question.

“Who were you thinking about when you wrote this?” Byungchan asks again, and Hanse’s hand freezes on the space bar of his computer. It’s a love song, a confession. Admiring from afar, working up the courage to reveal your feelings.

And Hanse thinks about Byungchan laying on the couch, looking up at him with his curious expression. Thinks about how his smile is so wide when he laughs, dimpled cheeks and rosy cheeks. He thinks about how he looks at everyone so intently when someone speaks, but especially Hanse. It’s always a little different with Hanse, always turned up to eleven. Hanse wonders if it’s just his imagination, if hope blooms in him like a flower ready to be presented when he finally works up the courage to tell Byungchan what has grown since the day they’ve met. 

Hanse accepts what he’s always known— this song is for Byungchan. They always are.

He pulls his hands into his lap, back still facing Byungchan. He takes in a shaky breath, steels himself, decides to come clean. His limbs feel heavy when he turns around in the chair—

And Byungchan is beautiful when he’s asleep, so vulnerable. The disappointment melts away from Hanse’s shoulders replaced only with fondness, and this time he really does reach out to brush the hair out of his eyes. Byungchan doesn’t stir, and Hanse feels a surge of bravery. He slips off his own flannel shirt, hanging loose on his shoulders anyway, and drapes it across Byungchan in an attempt to keep him warm.

  
  
He allows himself to take it a step further— he leans down, presses a kiss to his forehead.

Morning will come, and Hanse will find his words again. He will read the song back to him in full, tell Byungchan it’s about him, tell him how they’re _all_ about him. Years of building emotions can wait for a few more hours, he thinks.

  
  
Hanse settles back into his chair, glances at the small window above his workspace before turning his gaze back to the man he loves.

Outside, the sky turns a blue gray.

**Author's Note:**

> big thank you to jarki for reading this/listening to me yap about rarepairs all the time. comments and kudos are greatly appreciated ♡
> 
> [fic twit](https://twitter.com/pinkwinwin) / [main twit](https://twitter.com/truantseeker) /[cc](https://t.co/x9TO3X07Hp?amp=1)


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